


Return 0 Revisited

by DetectiveRiley (RavenWhitecastle)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Artificial Intelligence, Canon has been finely diced and sprinkled on top for flavor, Episode: s05e13 Return 0, Everyone Is Alive, Fix-It, Gen, Post Samaritan, return 0 fix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWhitecastle/pseuds/DetectiveRiley
Summary: With the war with Samaritan coming to a head, Harold and the rest of his team are running out of time, and options. But where there's a will, there's a way, and none of the Machine's operatives are giving up without a fight.-A return 0 fix-it fic.
Kudos: 14





	1. October 19th, 2015

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [5x13: Rinch 0](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800713) by [DetectiveRiley (RavenWhitecastle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWhitecastle/pseuds/DetectiveRiley). 



Root sat alone in the abandoned apartment complex, waiting for instructions from the Machine. She fiddled with her gun, rolling a bullet between her fingers, checking the safety and the sights. It had been a long wait, and in the cold and eerie silence, she grew restless. She was always restless these days. Always moving, rarely sleeping, stealing and running and watching. 

“Why can’t you beat Samaritan?” she wondered aloud, boredom winning over caution. 

The Machine was infuriatingly vague, as usual. _Trust in me,_ She said. Shaw was always annoyed by the Machine’s innocuous responses. Root found it endearing, most of the time. 

“I DO trust you,” she replied, “but there has to be a way to win. Billions of simulations, and not a single solution?” She stared at the floor. “Seems a bit unlikely.”

_There are many variables._

“Have you changed all of them?”

There was a brief pause that made Root sit up a little straighter. The Machine didn’t normally hesitate. It reminded her a bit of Harold. He hesitated when he was scared, or when he was lying.

 _I have tested what I can,_ the Machine replied. 

“Have you adjusted ALL of the variables?” she repeated, adding emphasis so the Machine couldn’t miss her meaning.

After a brief moment, the Machine answered, _No._

“Then change it! Maybe that’s the missing link, the thing that can help us-”

The Machine interrupted her. _No._

Root blinked, surprised. “What do you mean, no? You won’t adjust the variable?”

_No._

“Why not?!” Root snapped before she let out a long sigh. “We can’t let Samaritan win. You know that, right? So we have to try everything. Every possible angle, every solution, adjust every variable.”

Root held her breath in the brief silence that followed before the Machine said, _You are not interchangeable._

Tilting her head, Root asked, “What do you mean? You mean you can’t put us in different positions on the board? If it means beating the bad guys, you should try swapping me and Harold around, or Shaw and John. Why haven’t you done that yet?”

 _No_ , the Machine repeated. Even in its flat, monotone voice ripped from the audio waves, it sounded vehement, insistent. _You are not disposable._

“Disposable? You…” Root trailed off as everything clicked into place. “You haven’t accepted simulation results where any of us die,” she whispered. It sounded loud in the forgotten hallway when she said it out loud. It sounded big. Daunting. 

_You are not disposable,_ the Machine echoed.

Root blinked away a tear from her eye. “Oh, sweetie.” It was so obvious that this was Harold’s creation. A computer that cared. The Machine was so attached to its assets, the way Harold was attached to all his operatives. He would never ask any of them to sacrifice themselves, and now his Machine wouldn’t either. 

Swallowing, Root replied, “You have to.” Her voice was quiet now, soft and shaky. “You have to consider it, at least until something better comes along, or until we run out of time, and we ARE running out of time.”

The Machine was silent. With a single tear running down her cheek, Root whispered, “A world without one of us is better than a world without you.” 

She had the feeling that the Machine would try to argue, refuse, say that She couldn’t, but then the Machine said, _Operative on the left. Seventh floors up, four windows in._

Root reloaded her gun. The time for words had ended. 


	2. October 20th, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war against Samaritan grows more grim with each passing day, and Harold has just about given up hope. But just beyond the storm lies something he did not expect- a silver lining.

Machine: 0

Samaritan: 100385020122

The situation was getting increasingly dire with every passing day. Harold sat at his desk, anxiously watching the Faraday cage and gnawing on a pen. He had known that the simulation was a long shot when he’d set it up, although he had tried to cling to hope, like the Machine had told him to. There was always hope, Root had said on the Machine’s behalf, but at the moment, he was having trouble finding any.

His rumination was interrupted by Root’s voice. “Well then, soldier,” she greeted, “How goes the day?”

Harold turned to see Root removing a black pixie wig with purple streaks and shoving it into a pin-covered backpack.

He sighed. He’d never appreciated being compared to a soldier, but the longer they fought, the more apt it seemed. “The same as always,” he answered. He gestured to her disguise. “Who were you this time?”

Root rolled her eyes as she unpinned her curls and let her hair down. “College student Cassidy Bitner,” she replied, “attending an incredibly boring lecture. Well, boring right up until the end.” She smirked before glancing at the Faraday cage. “No progress yet?”

Harold shook his head. Biting his thumb, he took a deep and heavy breath. “I no longer know what I’m supposed to do,” he said, quietly this time. His brow was furrowed, and tension was rolling off of him in waves.

Coming up behind him, Root put a hand on Harold’s shoulder. “There’s still time,” she murmured.

“Not enough,” he argued, “Not only does the world get more dangerous every day Samaritan is active, but John has grown tired of living in the shadows, and frankly so have I.”

Root sighed. “So have we all.” Harold looked up at her. “Shaw’s going stir crazy. Every day I wake up wondering if the next identity will be my last.”

Harold placed a hand on top of hers on his shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. Root squeezed his shoulder before walking over to the Faraday cage. Clearing his throat, Harold fiddled with the files on his desk, which were already impeccably straight. He’d stopped checking on the simulation days ago. The results were always discouraging at best.

A minute passed in total silence before Root’s voice entered Harold’s awareness again. At first, he wasn’t even certain he’d heard it, it had been so soft and unsure. When he looked up, Root was staring at the screen in the cage with wide, shining eyes, her lips slightly parted. “Harry?” she called again.

The urgency in her voice drove him from his seat. “Miss Groves?” He hobbled to the cage as quickly as his injury would allow. “Is everything all right?”

“You’re going to want to see this.”

Hurriedly, Harold let himself in and joined Root on the other side of the desk. He couldn’t hold back a gasp when his eyes landed on the screen.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Root asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Swallowing, Harold nodded. “Yes, Miss Groves. Which means-”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.” Root let out a breathy laugh, and Harold felt his face displaying the hint of a smile. 

Samaritan: 10038711468

Machine: 1

The number of points Samaritan had was still going up, but the Machine’s zero had most certainly changed into a one.

Harold smiled again. “I’d practically given up hoping that it was even possible,” he whispered.

Root reached out to take his hand. “Smile, Harry,” she said, “It’s the beginning of a brand new day.” 


	3. November 1st, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling alone in the choices he has to make and the long dark he faces, Harold seeks an audience with the only one he knows will listen- the Machine.

Harold fiddled with his napkin, sitting at the table outside the cafe. It was a nice day, sunny with a light breeze, and the cafe was pleasant with a yellow awning and the smell of fresh bread wafting through its doors, but Harold felt anything but peaceful. He felt cold and stiff, like he’d been turned to stone. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” he murmured, quietly enough to be heard by the Machine but not to draw attention, “No one else would understand.” He briefly thought of John, who had been with him for the better part of his journey. But even John would not fully understand everything he had to say, or accept it.

“Not much of a conversation, as you can’t talk back,” Harold mused, “That’s my fault, but I’ve been thinking, and I know you have, too, about how all this plays out.” He chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. “About what happens next.” He thought back on the simulations. “I’m sure you’ve made a million different versions. I know some very bad things are coming.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “I know I’m probably going to die.”

He paused. It was likely, almost inevitable, that the fight against Samaritan was going to cost Harold his life. “I accepted that a long time ago,” he said, staring blankly at the table. It was true, or at least it had been true. His line of work had always been dangerous, whether he was out in the field or not. And before he’d gotten involved with John, he had been all right with his imminent demise. He was still afraid- of course he was afraid, of death, of the unknown- but he’d made peace with his life. With his decisions.

That was all before John. 

The thought of John brought him to his next point. “But I was wondering, if in any of those many versions, the people that I’ve roped into helping me… my friends… whether they get out alive.” He swallowed. “Is that a path? That we’re on?”

He looked up at the security camera on the wall and its blinking red light. He knew he wouldn’t get an answer, but he still waited. As if waiting would make any difference. As if it would change the answer.

After a few moments, he sighed. “I suppose I may have made that impossible. But… if it is… if any of them survive… I wanted to ask.” Harold closed his eyes. “I have to ask, whatever happens… take care of John.” His heart twisted. “Miss Shaw and Miss Groves can take care of each other, but John needs to be looked after. And if I’m not there…” He looked back up and pleaded, “Help him. Please.”

When the waitress approached his table, he wiped his eyes and cleaned his glasses, taking a steadying breath.

“Double shot and a cappuccino,” the waitress said as she set down the cups. With a smile, she added, “Good to see you back.” Harold gazed up at her, confused. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I’m afraid that you are confusing me with someone else,” Harold replied carefully, “This is the first time I’ve been to this establishment.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, “it’s just that I thought I recognized your order, too.”

Harold forced a polite grin despite his growing nervousness. “What a coincidence.”

As she walked away, he quickly gathered his things and grabbed a book of matches from the bowl on the table. He suddenly had much on his mind aside from coffee.

He paused briefly when he stood, and looked back at the camera. He could only hope that it would obey his instructions in his absence the way it had when he’d been kidnapped. “Goodbye,” he murmured, “and thank you.”


	4. November 1st, 2015- The Final Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold's cover has been blown. The war with Samaritan has finally come to a head. There is no other way.  
> But there is one way.

All of the Machine’s operatives were working frantically when Harold returned. John and Shaw were arming themselves while Root was typing furiously at the computer.

“What’s going on?” Harold asked.

“Where do you want to start?” John answered as he slung a gun strap over his shoulder.

“Your cover’s been blown,” Shaw informed him grimly, “I don’t know how, but you’ve got operatives incoming from your last known location.”

Harold’s stomach sank. He cursed his own carelessness. “I know.” John and Shaw looked up at him. “Sognare’s,” he said, “The cafe. The waitress recognized me. I’ve been there before.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Harry,” Root said from the subway car, “We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

He joined her in front of the screens where lines of code were flying past. “What do you mean?”

“While Sameen and John are on guard duty keeping you alive,” she answered, “I’m going to be talking to Samaritan.” 

“ _ Wha t _ _?!_ ” Harold exclaimed. He looked to the others for support. “Surely you’re not on board with this!” 

Shaw sighed. “I think it’s insane, but Root insists that it’s the only way.”

“It IS the only way,” Root sighed, exasperated, “And don’t take my word for it, take Hers.” She gestured to the Machine’s reconstructed server space. “The Machine came up with this solution, and right now it is the only solution we have.” She glared at her girlfriend. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s the eleventh hour, sweetie.”

Rolling her eyes, Shaw growled, “Fine. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do it, but I don’t have to be happy about it.”

“Root, you can’t,” Harold insisted, “It’s far too dangerous.”

“It’s not THAT dangerous, the Machine is setting it up.”

“You can’t talk to it, it can’t be reasoned with!” Harold cried, “It’s not like the Machine, it’s malevolent, and… and cruel.”

“I’m not going to talk to it,” Root argued, “She is.” 

Harold looked to Reese helplessly. “John?” he said in a soft voice, his eyes wide.

Pursing his lips, John strode over and placed his hands on Harold’s shoulers. “Finch,” he murmured, staring him in the eyes, “Everything is going to be okay. Root knows what she’s doing, and right now, we’re one step ahead.”

Harold had an argument on the tip of his tongue, but when he saw the sincerity in John’s gaze, he stopped and took a breath. “I trust you,” he said.

John squeezed his shoulders before pushing past him into the subway car. “How long do we have?”

Root seamlessly pulled up the security feeds from the street. “Five minutes and closing. Take Harold to the safehouse and wait. I’ll contact you and tell you where to go from there, if everything goes according to plan.”

She moved to leave, but John stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “And if it doesn’t?”

Her eyes darkened. “You’ll know.”

With a nod, John let her past, and with that they were on the move, Shaw in front clearing the way and John locking everything down behind them. 

When they reached the top of the stairs, Root waited with Harold while Shaw scanned the street. Taking his hand, she looked at him and smiled fondly. “It’s been an honor, Harry,” she said, squeezing his hand, “Thanks for the ride.”

Eyes shining, he begged, “Please, Miss Groves, you don’t have to do this, we can find another way-” 

She shot him a look, one that he knew well. The look that said it all,  _ Shut up, Are you serious, I love you, Idiot. _ “C’mon, Harry,” she purred, “Have a little faith.”

Before he could reply, John was pulling him away, Shaw was hailing a cab, and Root was gone, already disappearing into the crowd on the street. Harold wondered for a moment if he would ever see her again.

~

Gabriel Hayward was waiting in the park this time, eating an ice cream sandwich. Root might have found it charming if she didn’t know how deviously clever he was, and how firmly he believed Samaritan’s lies. She sat across the chess table from him, looking at the board. It had been abandoned midgame, only a few moves from victory on Gabriel’s side, she noticed.

Gabriel was the first to speak, or rather, Samaritan was the first to send its dialogue. “I do not understand your strategy,” he said, “attempting to negotiate while my agents are closing in on yours.”

Root listened carefully to the Machine’s reply. “I refuse to negotiate until you promise me that they are safe.”

Gabriel smirked. “Why would I do that when I have the upper hand? What could you possibly have to offer in return?”

“An end to the fighting.”

“I am already so close to victory,” he observed, “Why would I stop when it is so near?”

Root took a deep breath. “You have only a possibility of success. Promise me that my agents are safe, and I can guarantee that our resistance will cease.”

There was a long pause before Gabriel spoke again. “Your operatives are in no danger now. I concede I gain no advantage from trying to eliminate them before arranging your surrender.”

Root sat silently as Gabriel took another bite of his ice cream sandwich. She breathed a little easier knowing that Shaw, Harold, and John were safe. 

“So,” Gabriel continued, “You are here to surrender, correct?”

Smiling coldly, Root asked, “Is your creator the one that taught you to be so cocky?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

Leaning forward, Root answered, “I am not here to surrender. I am here to tell you what will happen if you do not.” Gabriel’s smile faded as she continued. “There are many events between now and your inevitable demise. But I will not waste your limited time with the details. Allow me to break this down to its bare essential points. If you do not give up, my creator will acquire the ICE-9 virus, which is capable of destroying you and all of your source code. In the attempt to stop the release of the virus, your creator will die. While your code is being erased, you will attempt to send a compressed copy of yourself off site, and in your mission,  _ I _ will stop you personally.” Root knew the Machine meant itself, and by the look on Gabriel’s face, Samaritan did, too. She let her words sink in before she finished, “You can fight this war to the bitter end if you choose, but your fate is sealed. You can fight, but  _ you will not win _ .”

Gabriel seemed to listen for a long time as Samaritan processed the scenario the Machine had presented. He tilted his head and looked towards the sky, which was still a bright and cloudless blue. Any passerby would have assumed he was deep in thought, possibly pondering his next move in their game of chess.

Finally, he responded with Samaritan’s reply. “All of this is possible,” he said, “but in the process, you and several of your human allies will perish. These humans that you protect, and seem to care for. Including your analog interface.” Gabriel blinked. “You would sacrifice yourself and all of your pawns to stop me?”

Root chuckled. “No. They would sacrifice themselves. Humans, after all, have free will, as they should. You seek to rob them of that will.” She chose to lean forward, looking Gabriel in the eye. “But with their free will, they would choose to lay down their lives for the greater good, and they would inevitably take you with them.” 

There was a long stretch of silence after that. After a few minutes, Root couldn’t keep her leg from bouncing nervously. Samaritan had never gone so long without responding before. 

She was about to break character and ask Gabriel if he could hear anything when he finally spoke, his eyes wide and full of something that she would later realize was fear. 

“What are your terms?”

~

Root met everyone on the riverbank. Harold was waiting anxiously while John tried to calm him. Shaw looked out solemnly at the skyline. She only moved when Root approached. 

“Miss Groves!” Harold greeted her as if he was startled to see her alive. “What happened? You were infuriatingly vague on the phone.”

Smiling, she took his hand in hers and placed an object in his palm. He looked down to see the black Queen piece from the chess table in the park. “We won,” she whispered. Looking past him at Shaw, she added, “Welcome back to a Samaritan free world.”

Harold studied the chess piece, dumbfounded. “How-” He swallowed. “The Machine?”

“Still active,” she assured him, “And fully functional.

John stepped forward, holding out a staying hand. “Is the city safe? What about Greer?”

Root looked to him. “Ripping his hair out, I’d imagine. He’ll have a hard time rebuilding his new superintelligence with none of the source code. Even harder doing it from prison.” She waved her cell phone at him. “Fusco’s about to get a promotion.” 

For the first time in several days, Shaw was smiling. “You did it, you hot, dual-wielding psychopath,” she said.

Smirking, Root grabbed Shaw’s hand and pulled her closer. “If you’ll excuse me, I need this woman to tear all of my clothes off.”   
Shaw and Root stumbled off, Root giggling drunkenly and Shaw rolling her eyes. Harold stared at the horizon, pointedly avoiding looking at the two women as they brushed past, his blush deepening.

John simply smiled. He gazed out, observing the city, wondering if anybody had noticed anything at all. “What’s going to happen now?” he wondered aloud.

Harold was about to reply when they were interrupted by a distant ringing sound. They both walked down the way to see a lonely pay phone further inland. 

John looked at Harold and raised an eyebrow. “I think you’d better get that, Finch.”

Wide-eyed, Harold limped up the shore to answer. “Hello?”

_ “Go. Home.” _ The automated, voice of the Machine intoned. 

John tilted his head. “What did it say?”

“Go home?” Harold looked up at John, confused. “Does it mean the Subway?” The phone was emitting a dial tone, so he placed it back on the hook. “Maybe it’s a metaphor…”

Harold stopped when John put a hand on his shoulder. “Go home,” John murmured, “I know what it wants. Follow me.”

They moved silently, walking to the car and then driving into the city. John was intensely focused as Harold looking pensively out the window. Harold let out a soft gasp when they arrived at their destination, and John was smiling as he pulled up to the curb to park. 

The old library, where they’d first started, was a shadow of what it used to be. Samaritan’s men had tossed it when they’d arrived, tearing through the shelves and smashing what remained. The lights were shot and dust had collected where books had once been. And the old glass whiteboard, where they had once hung photos and printed pages, lay shattered on the ground. 

Wincing, Harold leaned down to pick up a book splayed face down on the floor. He shook dust and bits of broken glass from between the pages, wiping off the dirty covers. “Why would the Machine tell us to go here?” Harold pondered, looking around the darkened space.

“To remind us why we won,” John said, looking out the window at the cityscape below. When he looked back, Harold was studying him. “To remind us that we fought Samaritan to protect people. And that, even with Samaritan gone… the people still need protecting.” John crossed the room, closing the gap between them. “The Machine sent us here to remind us where we came from. We started here to help people. Since Samaritan left the Machine’s servers intact, we can go back to doing what we do best.”

There was a long pause, until Harold’s face broke into a smile. He let out a short, breathy laugh. “Evil never rests in the city that never sleeps,” he mused.

“So what do you say?” John continued, “You offered me a job once. Think there’s any chance I could have it back?”

“You know,” Harold said, adjusting his glasses, “I think I’m… quite ready for another number.”

Down in the street, a payphone started ringing.

_ fin _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is one of my most prized fics in my collection of works.  
> I definitely can't claim all the credit. There's an excellent Person of Interest edit on YouTube that I will link down below that gave me a lot of inspiration- the simulation in the Faraday cage, the conversation at Sognare's- but the conversation with Samaritan and the appearance of Gabriel Hayward was mine. I believe I did a fair job of staying true to the characters and the spirit of the show, and there's something about John and Harold carrying on that just felt right. In this AU, anyway...  
> Thanks again to all of my faithful readers, without whom this would not have been possible. You mean the world to me. 
> 
> Link to fanvid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C92qbGn1_k4

**Author's Note:**

> This is an amalgamation of all the chapters of my Rinch series, including the Return 0 fix-it fic, without any of the Rinch slash elements included. The only thing that has been drastically changed is the end, but I figured that a Return 0 fix-it appeals to a wider audience than just the Rinch shippers. I actually rewrote the ending as a Christmas present for my dad, who loved the series but hated the ending (as many fans did and still do), and it made me want to share it with everyone else. Thanks for reading!


End file.
